Get a Clue
by Laine The Great
Summary: "The air is thick with mystery, but with romance the air is even thicker." Murder Mystery Weekend at Hogwarts has interesting results.
1. Prolouge

**_A/N:_** Yes. I stole this idea from the Disney show, Lizzie McGuire. So don't say I didn't warn you, alright? Alright!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Get A Clue  
**_Prologue  
_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Before I begin this story, you must understand, I **despise** Draco Malfoy. With the eternal passion of a thousand burning, fiery suns.  
Well, you may be wondering why I'm walking down a wedding aisle to meet him.  
You will, most likely, understand later.  
  
See, I'd always had this moment, in my head. I'd be walking down a red carpet outside, everything would smell like perfume (hey, it's my fantasy, stop giggling), and my family would be surrounding me. I'd be walking away from them, kind of. Think that's symbolic? Anywho, I'd be walking, and Harry would be standing at the other side, smiling, and when I got there, he'd take my hand, and we'd be together forever.  
  
But fate is never that kind, is it? Instead, it's Draco Malfoy standing there, and none other than Harry Potter is the best man. My life is over.  
  
_...Got'ya'!  
  
_Hah. I can't really even BEGIN to believe that you'd really think I'd marry Draco Malfoy for any reason at all_. _And besides, I'm only fourteen years old, and my name is NOT Juliet, thank you so very much. My name is Ginny Weasley. Hello, nice to meet you. And don't deny it, I did **so** have you fooled.  
  
Having a Murder Mystery Weekend at Hogwarts was one of Dumbledore's more...er...shall we say fun? Fun ideas to 'better' Hogwarts. At least it would give us all an excuse to goof off.  
  
Anyway, this is the part of the story where I narrate and tell you about what's going on so that you get it when it actually begins. This is the part of the story where I tell you that everything will change, all in one weekend. This is where I tell you that Dumbledore must've been crazy to let over ten horomonal teenagers take over the school for this weekend. This is where I tell you that it begins with a bit of a bang and ends with an even bigger one.  
  
This is where I tell you that the air is thick with mystery, but with romance the air is even thicker.  
  
...And this is where I tell you that all of this just sounds so unbelievably cliche, that I have to stop talking.  
  
I mean, I am getting married, after all. 


	2. Let The Games Begin

**_A/N:_** Okay, this took me a loooong time to write, mainly because my computer crashed and my dumb back-up CD didn't work . But anyway, I was all...persistent and that stupid short attention span didn't attack, so, HERE IT IS! BE SATISFIED WITH IT! Oh, and this was meant to be viewed in small lettering, just to point it out n.n ::Nod::  
  
**WARNING!: **Original characters introduced. Laine belongs to me, but Lorelai belongs to my clone, Merry. HIYA MER! xD  
  
**Disclaimer: **NONE BELONGS TO ME! 'Cept...Laine. The storyline even barely belongs to me. LIZZIE MCGUIRE, PEOPLE! But the writing? See, that belongs to me. ::Nod::  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Get a Clue  
**_Chapter One_  
Let The Games Begin  
  
  


_  
  
  
  
_Albus Dumbledore liked the colour known as midnight blue.  
  
In fact, one could go as far to say that he loved it, but no one ever did. That was because they were all afraid they would offend him in some way, and no one wanted to offend him.  
  
Really.  
  
They didn't.  
  
But, then again, how could they not have guessed his love for that particular colour? He always went walking around, knee-deep in it, because of his trademark robes. But those were also covered in moons and stars, entirely proper attire for the Headmaster of Hogwarts to be wearing. So maybe they hadn't.  
  
But the author is just taking guesses.  
  
But, yes, he did have a true love for the colour, and that's why he wrote all of his personal letters in a very thick ink with that very tint. The envelopes always bled when he used it, but he didn't mind it, though the recipient usually did.  
  
So when a few students received letters coated in it, they had all but expected it.  
  
"But, Albus," One Minerva McGonnagall said, worriedly (though she always sounded worried and it didn't make any difference one way or the other), "don't you think we should've...asked if they wanted to participate?"  
  
"Minerva, I've told you. No one would've wanted to participate."  
  
"You see my point. And you don't even seem worried about it."  
  
"And you see my true genius, Professor. Come, let's take a walk and let the selected sort themselves out."  
  
Professor McGonnagall decided she was going to go hunting for a new job next week.  
  
  
  


*  
  
  
  


"Ugh...the bloody envelope is **bleeding**..."  
  
"Oh, Ron, how you speak pure poetry," Hermione Granger responded, sardonically, without even looking up from _Hogwarts: A History. _This got a very sour look from none other than Ron Weasley.  
  
Harry had to smirk slightly at his best friend's convorsation, even though he was pretty much used to it by now. He went back to his own letter shortly after he had managed to hold down his laughter, and carefully tore it open with a butterknife, just so he wouldn't rip up the ink-soaked letter inside.  
  
_Dear Mr. Potter,  
We are pleased to inform you that_ (_wow, this already sounded familiar,_ Harry thought) y_ou and the other selected students have been chosen to participate in a school activity. However, until the students gather in the Dungeons at nine o'clock Wednesday morning, the exact school activity shall not be revealed. There the school activity shall be explained in full, and roles shall be given out. Please be there, or you will not be able to take part.  
  
Sincerely,  
Headmaster Albus Dumbledore  
  
_Before Harry had a chance to read the rest of Dumbledore's signature, he looked up.  
  
"'S'matter, mate?" Ron said, curiously, for the letter he'd gotten had been illegible.  
  
"_Roles_..." He responded simply, in a whisper that was more whimper than anything. _Roles_?! **_ROLES_**?! A memory came floating to him that had previously been blocked. He'd been cast in the school play in elementary school, more because the teachers pitied him than anything else. He'd gotten the part of the Prince. And suddenly, he was on stage, and he had just _stood there_, like a complete and total dolt, when he was supposed to be retrieving a sword from a Styrofoam stone. And suddenly, his magic kicked in, and there had been green sparks everywhere. The lighting was to blame according to most of the school, but that hadn't stopped his Prince costume from catching fire.  
  
That little incident had made him the laughing stock of the school, as if he hadn't been already.  
  
"Oh, honestly, Harry," Hermione scolded, "you've faced dark wizards and you're afraid of a bit part in some kind of play?"  
  
"Yes. Yes, I am." Ron laughed at that, but Harry wasn't kidding. He _was_ afraid. Bloody hell, he was terrified.  
  
"Ooooh, brave ickle Potty scared of something?" That voice...it wasn't Draco's, but a slightly more shrill one. One that obviously belonged to a girl.  
  
Lainlella Williams.  
  
"Gasp, the world is about to come to an end." And that was her Siamese twin, Lorelai LeGrief (without all of those sticky nerve endings).  
  
Lainlella (known to the main populous as Laine) and Lorelai (known to the main populous as...Lorelai) were partners in crime. And their mothers were friends with Mrs. Weasley, no less. Which meant they were considered as friends, and it would be frowned upon if he hexed them into next Tuesday.  
  
It was a pity, really.  
  
"Don't you have siblings to bother, or something?" Ron piped up.  
  
"...They claim they're not related, so no, we don't." Lorelai smirked, and the red-head she was talking to gave her a glare from his seat.  
  
"Sorry to inturrupt the happy convorsation, but have you noticed that this invitation thing says nine o'clock on Wednesday is when we're supposed to go down to the dungeons?" Hermione looked worriedly at her own letter, the same look McGonnagal had worn so many times.  
  
"Er...no?"  
  
"Wednesday, as in, _today_? As in, _a few minutes_?"  
  
They all blinked, and then dashed off.  
  
Ginny Weasley stared after them looking up from her own letter which nobody had noticed, and followed. Something told her it was going to be a destinctly long day.  
  
  
  


*  
  
  
  


Costumes were not normal at Hogwarts.  
  
Mainly because Wizards really had no need for them. Hallowe'en was just a celebration, there was really no Trick-Or-Treating unless there was a slight possible chance that a wizard family lived in the Muggle world.  
  
Hah.  
  
The other big reason was that Muggles mocked Witches and Wizards with them, which is why they chose to keep a clear distance from most costume stores of any kind. Both of these factored in to the reason that there were no costumes at Hogwarts.  
  
Until today, of course. And when Harry stepped into the dungeons, he thought he must've stepped into either a very odd dream or a very light nightmare.  
  
There were candles, making the room flicker with a ghostly sort of light, not incomparable to the light at Nearly Headless Nick's deathday party, except the room reeked of vanilla.  
  
Besides the horror of aromatherapy, there were _costumes_. All kinds. There were even a few parodying the Wizarding World sitting modestly in the corner.  
  
Harry was, needless to say, terrified.  
  
The red-haired girl that stood by those very costumes was a sharp contrast to the rest of the students, who looked sullen. She was practically hopping up and down.  
  
Okay, strike that, she **was** hopping up and down.  
  
Ginny Weasley had always wanted to be in some kind production. Ever since Percy had taken her to the muggle cinema in Ottery St. Catchpole (which, according to him, was to broaden her horizons. But she was sure that it was just because he wanted to see their one-time-only showing of _My Fair Lady_), she'd dreamt of waltzing around a stage, with the light on her, for the first time being truly alone and loved for it.  
  
But this was far from 'some kind of production.'  
  
She was pulled out of her thoughts when Fred became brave enough to step into the middle of the mock-circle the students had created.  
  
"Ooo, there's a note!" Laine pointed to a cheery, wooden dresser that looked very out of place in the dungeons, even with all the light and noise.  
  
"...Thank you, Captain Obvious."  
  
"I do what I can."   
  
Fred sighed, and with a shake of the head, he snatched the envelope off of the shelf. This one was written in black ink, in case you were wondering.  
  
He began to read,  
"_To The Usual Suspects -  
Sit down, all of you. In those chairs. No, not THOSE, those!_"  
  
They all blinked, and filed into the seats. All except for, of course, the Hogwartian Boy-toy, known to most as Draco Malfoy, who stayed leaning against the wall, smirking lightly. (who else can write themselves in by simply leaning against the wall?)  
  
"_That goes for you, too, Mr. Malfoy._"  
  
"It doesn't say that," he replied, in mild disbelief.  
  
"Oh, but it does."  
  
Looking extremely sour, Draco sat down, making sure to look as if he wasn't listening.  
  
Though, the author will readily bet the reader seventy galleons that Draco Malfoy was listening more intently than anyone else in the room.  
  
Pay up. Go on.  
  
"_Anyway. I'm sure you are all wondering why you were asked to come here today---_"  
  
"Well, **no der**." This came from Lorelai, who was sitting beside Laine. Both were smirking.  
  
He raised a brow at the words on the paper, but read them anyway, "_Shut up, Lorelai_."  
  
"Rude."  
  
"_Now, ANYWHO! You may all be wondering why you were asked to come here today---_" He sent a look to Lorelai and Laine who looked ready to inturrupt again, "_---and all of your guesses were, most likely, amiss. You see, Hogwarts has decided to do something a bit different. A Murder Mystery Weekend will take place here...well...this weekend. What did you expect? Honestly. Well, anyway, you will pick out your roles from a hat. No, not that hat. NO, NOT THAT HAT! YES! YES! THAT'S THE ONE! What are we teaching you at this school, anywa----_"  
  
"Wait a moment, there should've been a casting call! I mean, we don't even get to have a CHANCE at the roles we want! It isn't fair! And plus, there are probably some people who don't want to---" The author will be so kind as to spare you the rest, but you can tell who jumped up to 'crusade for justice.'  
  
Hermione, of course. Silly.  
  
"_...Be quiet and sit down, Mrs. Granger._" At that, everyone had a hard time containing their laughter. Ron, who was sitting beside Hermione, just couldn't.  
  
Needless to say, she thwapped him so fast her hand was just a big motion-blur. He cried out a destinct "ow" to which she mumbled something that sounded oddly like "great idiotic prat" under her breath.  
  
"Settle down, children. I want to read the bloody letter in this century. _Right, well, when you pick out your roles, there will be a small backround on your characters on the card. The plotline is as follows: Gwendolyn Burbanks is getting married to one Garret Evans in her father's night club, where she's been preforming. The people who attend will be figured out as you go along. But anyway, the father is killed, yadayadayada, you solve the mystery. The people who haven't been selected to portray someone will be staying over in Hogsmeade, and since, oh, about ALL OF THE SCHOOL isn't portraying someone, you'll basically be by yourselves. Even without teachers, who have been sent to Hogsmeade to supervise_," there was an audible whoop of joy from George, "_but you do need supervision yourself. So, we're sending in graduate Percy Weasley to fill the role of the father.  
And thus, the game begins._"  
  
There was a sharp pause. "_Percy_?" George asked, in absolute disbelief. "As in, our brother, Percy? Couldn't they have gotten someone...less annoying?"  
  
"Oh, shut it," Hermione said, "Percy's rather nice, I think."   
  
Ron was glaring, ears reddened, at nothing in particular after she stated her opinion on Percy.  
  
"I suppose we should pick, shouldn't we?" Ginny offered so Hermione and Ron wouldn't get into another argument that would end in more thwapping, which would ultimately end in Ron ducking, and her getting her jaw broken.  
  
Summer memories aren't always that fun.  
  
Harry had been rather silent through the whole thing. But anyone could tell, he was relieved. It would still be acting, however, not in front of an audience, but instead in front of...  
  
"Can't wait to see you embarrass yourself, Potter."  
  
...Well, there went his only comfort. "Can't wait to see you turn into a bouncing ferret again, Malfoy."  
  
He was pleased when Draco's cheeks went lightly scarlet in anger, and there were some mutterings, all of which are far too violent to repeat here.  
  
"Yes, well," Fred smirked at Draco, "we'll just wait until we have to actually solve the thing, then, won't we?"  
  
"You wish, Weasley. Or maybe, because of your lack of brain power, you can't wish."  
  
The three Weasley boys had to be held back, while Draco stood, smirking like an idiot. It was taking an awful lot for Harry not to hex Draco, because he just looked so stupid like that.  
  
And I'm not exaggerating.  
  
Ginny flushed with anger, but contained it. She'd learned to contain alot of her feelings over the years.  
  
Mainly because they went unnoticed.  
  
"Pick out of the bloody hat, Draco," she shoved the hat at him, and he was so surprised by this sudden act of mock-bravery that he actually did what she said.  
  
"I'm Garret Evans, the 'sweet, likeable bloke who is going to wed Gwendolyn Burbanks.'"  
  
Harry attempted not to laugh. Sweet, likable? Malfoy? In an alternate reality, perhaps, but certainly not here.  
  
Ron, however, did laugh, causing Malfoy to send him a look that would've killed a basilisk.  
  
The author rests her case.  
  
"You pick, then, Potter." Malfoy shoved the hat at Harry.  
  
Harry picked a random card and read: "'Gwendolyn Burbanks, the witty, blushing maiden who Garret is making his own.' Oh, for the love of Merlin, can I pick again?" After the roar of laughter from Fred and George subsided, he picked again.  
  
"'Ian Davies, the best friend of Garret Evans, is a dodgy, cynical type. He has a bad leg from the war.' Better than nothing..."  
  
"...Wait, what war?" Hermione asked, blinking.  
  
"Dunno. It just says...'the war.'"  
  
"Er...congratulations?" Ron was snickering.  
  
"Oh, shut it, Ron. You pick next." The hat was shoved into Ron's hands. He picked a card.  
  
"'Eion Epps, the Butler that Luciano Burbanks---' I'm assuming that that's Percy---'has hired to take care of the wedding.' The _butler_?! Can I _please_ pick again?!"  
  
"...No, Weasley. I've already got rather used to the idea of you in a butler outfit..."  
  
"You know, if we stopped fighting all the time, we may get through this weekend **alive**." They all stared when Ginny said this, nodded in agreement, and the hat was passed on to Hermione.  
  
"I'm 'Hestia Morris, the bright light of the London Stage.'" Grinning lightly, she passed the hat to George.  
  
"'Lanny Williams, the American star of stage and screen.' Forgive me for not jumping up and down in complete joy. Bad back, you know."  
  
"LANNY WILLIAMS?! MY LONG LOST BROTHER!" Laine pounced him.  
  
"...Laine, it's only in the game, dear."  
  
"Right!" And she got off. He got up, and after passing the hat to Fred, brushed himself off furiously.  
  
"Oi. 'Max Welles is another of Garret's old war buddies.' Go figure. Anyway, you pick, Laine." The hat was, in turn, shoved at Laine.  
  
"Oooo! I get to be Nicole Veritas, the spunky girl gossip reporter of the Veritas Times. Can we say 'whoo-bloody-hoo'?"  
  
"...I can," Lorelai offered.  
  
"Yay! Anywho, take a caaard, any caaard, and accept your fate."  
  
Lorelai did so. "Oooo! I'm Leah Veritas, the spunky girl gossip reporter of the Veritas Times and partner in crime and SISTER! to Nicole. Oh, fate works in wonderous ways. And I guess that's it."   
  
Ginny, looking very annoyed, snatched the hat from Lorelai ("Rude,") and took whatever was left.  
  
"I'm...Gwendolyn Burbanks."  
  
Harry fell over.  
  
  
  


*  
  
  
  


When all had been said and done, and the rest of the group was gone, Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy had been left alone.  
  
Not, on purpose, of course.  
  
"So, we're getting married, are we?" Draco asked, raising both eye brows.  
  
"I suppose so. And we're not even running off to Vegas."  
  
"...Eh?"  
  
"Nevermind."  
  
"Potter sure did have an interesting reaction to it, anyway..."  
  
"I really don't want to talk about it, Draco, but cheers anyway."  
  
"I do what I can." He was smirking lightly.  
  
"Riight..."  
  
There was a short pause. "You think you're going to solve it, then?" He was still smirking at her.  
  
"Well, yeah. I've been reading Nancy Spellman mysteries since before you could smirk, you know."  
  
That caused his smirk to faulter.  
  
Strike one up for Virginia Weasley.  
  
"Very funny, Weaselette."  
  
"I do what I can."  
  
"Right, well, I bet you I can solve it before you can."  
  
"...Uh-huh. In your dreams, maybe."   
  
"Ooo, and you think you're going to do any better?"  
  
"...Well, yes."  
  
"I figured. Well, I'm sure we'll find out soon enough. Let the games begin."  
  
"Let the games begin indeed, Malfoy."  
  
And, before exchanging one last glance, they parted ways.


	3. Palmistry

**A/N: **And here begins the unneeded fluff! REVIEW, PEOPLE, REVIEW!**  
  
WARNING!: **H/G may rot the brain.**  
  
Disclaimer: **None belongs to me! The idea for the unneeded fluff idea belongs to the story 'Palmistry' which can be found on sugarquill.net, and the rest of the writing belongs to me, so...lemme alone -.-**  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Get a Clue  


**_Chapter Two_  
Palmistry****  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Thursday, for Harry Potter and his assortment of friends, went by without much bother. Now that he knew what the 'big weekend event' was, he needn't be worried.  
  
That much.  
  
Okay, so he was worried. His acting skills, as far as he knew, were not that good, if they even existed.  
  
But Friday brought a new worry along to his already buzzing brain: _What if Draco and Ginny had to...**kiss**?  
  
_He couldn't help but shudder at the very thought. But **why** was he shuddering? Ginny was a friend of his. Nothing more, nothing less. And he could explain, easily, in an instant, that he wasn't attracted to her in any way.  
  
But then again, he always felt nice when she laughed at something he said, or blushed and muttered 'thank you' when ever he complimented her off the top of his head, and he had taken the time to notice that she was getting prettier and prettier every day, making even the likes of Cho Chang pale in comparision.  
  
But that didn't mean, necessarily, that Harry Potter was attracted to Ginny Weasley.  
  
Pshaw.  
  
He looked down at his schedule, almost forgetting where he was going. Next was...a light groan escaped his lips. _Divinations_. Why was it always Divinations? That or Potions.   
  
But they wouldn't be taking that any time soon, for Snape, apparently, was enraged with the pink Princess costumes in his dungeons.  
  
He climbed up the ladder almost absent-mindedly, and only when his head swam in vanilla again did he come to his senses, mainly because he needed to if he wanted to stay awake. He stumbled to his seat beside Ron, who he had been walking with earlier, and then Ron had mysteriously disappeared somewhere.  
  
"Where'd you go, then?" Harry asked, curiousity seeping through his sleepy tone.  
  
"Nowhere," Ron snapped immediately. Harry arched a brow, shook his head, and looked forward just in time to see someone who looked oddly like one big glimmer.  
  
Professor Trelawny had entered the building, and you have no idea how much Harry wanted her to leave it.  
  
"Tooo-day, my young scholars, we shall learn the mystical and an-ch-ient art of palm-est-ry..."  
  
The accent marks were needed, sorry. There'll be no more of those, okay? Okay.  
  
"...We will be reasearching the lines of the hand, and what they mean. For instance, perhaps the most prominent and telling, the line...of fate. First, palms up, with your dominate hand only, everybody...yes, that's what I like to see...now, don't feel ashamed if you do not have a fate line, for they are rare. It should start just above the wrist and go straight, but do not fear if it goes off course, it does not always mean danger...now, raise your hand if you have located your fate line."  
  
Something about the way she'd said 'fate' made a shudder run up Harry's spine. And usually, he'd be turning his snorts into coughs by now. He examined his hand. Of course, he had a line, as clear as the sky is blue.  
  
A memory came floating back to him. Ron had once told Harry that "If it was rare, he had one," and to tell the truth he was beginning to think Ron was right.  
  
He raised his hand. It was a death-wish.  
  
"Well, Mr. Potter, it seems you are the only one who has raised their hands...let's inspect it, shall we?"  
  
Again: Death. Wish.  
  
"Actually, I'd rather not---"  
  
"No use arguing, Mr. Potter. Show me your palm, please."  
  
He sighed lightly, and offered her his palm. She examined it for a moment, and pulled away, with a dramatic gasp.  
  
"Mr. Potter...your fate line has very many other lines intercepting it...it's as straight as an arrow, and I've never seen one so clear...but it ends, Mr. Potter, it ends...right about..." Her long nail dragged along his skin, scratching it slightly. "...It stops right about here." She pointed to the end of his line, and it had been intercepted by another line.  
  
Ron fought back laughter.  
  
"Mr. Potter, you are fated...fated for death." Lavender and Parvati squealed excitedly and Trelawny marched regally back to the front of the class.  
  
Harry shook his head slightly, and decided that it was all a load of dung.  
  
Except...his fate line. Something about it made him shudder and wonder why he'd never noticed it before.  
  
Something also made him think that this Murder Mystery Weekend thing was going to be bigger than anyone had ever thought.  
  


*  


  
"Ugh...the pumpkin juice is all watered down..."  
  
"Ron, do you always have to begin every convorsation with 'ugh'?" Harry asked, raising a brow at Ron.  
  
"Shut it, Potter," He chewed his food thoughtfully. "And the food...tastes like rubber."  
  
"It does not---oh, it does. Wonder why?"  
  
"Maybe Hermione finally got the house elves to go on strike," Ron replied, snickering.  
  
Ginny sat down beside her brother, frowning slightly, "I don't think it's funny. I mean, Hermione has a point, they are treated badly."  
  
Ron reached out and felt her forehead. "Well, you're not running a fever...Ginny, did Hermione put you under the Imperius Curse so you'd come in here and say that?"  
  
"Oh, come off it. And stop touching me," He smirked at her response, but did as he was told.  
  
"Hey, Ginny, d'you have a fate line?" She looked up at Harry, blinking slightly.  
  
"Er...'fate line'?"  
  
"Yeah, we were learning about them in palmistry."  
  
"She probably doesn't, Harry. I bet you're the only one in the whole school who does."  
  
"Thanks, Ron. No. Really. _Thanks_."  
  
"I do what I can."  
  
"And anyway...I asked Ginny."  
  
Her voice had caught in her throat. "I...er...I..."  
  
"Let me see your palm, it'll be a bit of research for class." All she could do was nod lightly and offer her right hand. He turned it over, cupping one hand under it, and lightly traced a prominent line from her wrist to just below her ring finger.  
  
Ron coughed slightly, shooting Harry an indignant look as if to say _'You're touching my sister's hand. STOP WHILE YOU'RE AHEAD.'  
  
_How a simple expression and a fake cough can say all of this, we may never know.  
  
Harry ignored this, of course, his concentration still fixed on Ginny's hand.  
  
Ginny had to make a mental note, every second his hand was even close to hers, not to blush or dip her arm in the butterdish.  
  
"Well, can't unfog the future from a simple line," Harry said, smiling lightly. And his hands had slipped away from her own. Somewhere in her swimming head, she wondered if he'd hesitated from doing so just a little bit.  
  
Just then, because the author has had enough of the fluff and can second-guess that the reader has as well, Hermione stormed in, panting lightly. She caught herself on the table before she fell into it with full-force.  
  
"What? Pass another test and come to gloat?"  
  
"Shut...it...you...bloody...prat," She gasped. "The...elves...they've...gone...on..strike!"  
  
Ron fell over.  
  


*  
  


Draco Malfoy detested Harry Potter.  
  
With every fiber of his being he loathed, dispised, and utterly hated Potter. He greatly looked forward to the day of his downfall, which would mark the end of all hope for all Witches and Wizards who worked constantly against Lord Voldemort.  
  
And you thought he had inner-depths, you did. Hah.  
  
Besides his hate for Potter, it had also grown into more of a 'Anything-You-Can-Do-I-Can-Do-Better' than a 'rivalry.'  
  
And Draco knew one thing that he could do, and do very well, quite frankly.  
  
He could charm girls, of course. Get your mind out of the gutter, man. They went for his pale complexion, and the 'bad-boy-hate-to-love-me' thing he had going. And all females in his house simply _fawned_ over his 'startlingly blue-gray eyes.' So, he had no trouble with competing with Potter in that aspect.  
  
But then again...  
  
He watched Harry and Ginny being so unbearably flirtatious with one another from his seat at the Slytherin table.  
  
It sickened him.  
  
He **had** to put a stop to it, simply had to.  
  
After all, he could do anything better than Potter could. Why should this have been any different?**  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
-  
A/N 2: **DUNDUNDUUUUN! Will Draco try for Ginny? Duh. Will there be hilarity? **Kuh**duh. Will there be romance? **Ker**duh. Will there be mystery? **No** duh. STAY TUNED, PEOPLE! 


End file.
